Five Years After
by nrink nrink
Summary: A short fic set during Christmas, five years after George Thornton's death. Featuring the lovely Mrs Thornton, John and a young Fanny.
1. Twenty Shillings

**Chapter 1: Twenty Shillings**

"_Sixteen years ago, my father died under very miserable circumstances. I was taken from school, and had to become a man (as well as I could) in a few days. I had such a mother as few are blest with; a woman of strong power, and firm resolve. We went into a small country town, where living was cheaper than in Milton, and where I got employment in a draper's shop…"_

_-North & South- _

_Elizabeth Gaskell_

From Mr Thomas Coulter to his wife:

_The Crown Inn, _

_Cheapside, London _

_20__th __December 1844_

_My dear Lydia,_

_Your letter of the 15__th__ arrived a rather late and a little stained at the corners, having been misdirected to the Crown Tavern, instead of the Crown Inn where Thornton and I are making ourselves at home as well as we can. I gave the Cockney lad who delivered it – a saucy, red-headed fellow – a right good talking-to, but he made such a rude gesture that I shudder at the thought of describing it to you. _

_This Inn is most uncomfortable, my room is too cold, the bed too hard for my old creaking bones, and the food exceedingly poor. How Thornton endures it I have no idea. When we arrived on Tuesday night, he immediately proclaimed it the most agreeable of Inns and instead of taking his rest, set to work on the accounts! The hardiness of youth is a great thing, but I suppose anywhere is better than that horrid, draughty place he lives in with his mother and that young sister of his. Salford, as you know, is such an insalubrious place. George Thornton did them all a terrible wrong when he – well, I shall say no more, for you know all about that dreadful affair. _

_You will be pleased, my dear that we made excellent progress in the last three days, and bought a very tempting selection of silks, brocades and velvets. I am sure our latest collection will bring every lady of quality in Milton to our shop without exception! Thornton has a sharp eye for fabrics, as you remarked upon not long ago, so I took the risk of allowing him to make a few purchases on his own. You'll be delighted to learn my bet has paid off very handsomely indeed, for he's got us some very clever bargains. He's the newest of our boys, but shaping up extremely well, and I am amazed that that fool Harper turned him out the way he did. An apprentice with honesty, good sense and nose for business is well-nigh impossible to come by these days. _

_I have decided to pay Thornton twenty shillings in addition to his wages this Christmas. He deserves every penny, and God knows the family has been sorely short of comforts this past year. Thornton tells me that the little girl – Fanny I think her name is – had the scarlet fever a month back, and though he'd put a brave face on it, I cannot help but know that he was fair breaking his heart with worry. _

_We shall be home in a few days, and until then, keep well and tell the children to behave themselves._

_Yours,_

_Thomas _

* * *

><p>Two days before Christmas, John Thornton, draper's apprentice at Coulter &amp; Sons was called upstairs to the back room overlooking Fetter Lane where Mr Coulter kept a small, cluttered office. Perplexed, Thornton took the creaking steps two at a time, wondering what he had done to deserve such a peremptory summons. At the door, he stood for a few moments in the musty dimness of the landing, straightened his cravat and knocked.<p>

"Is it you, Thornton? Come in, come in."

He held his breath and let himself into a flood of pale wintry light. Shading his eyes, he said, "Mr Coulter?"

"Yes, yes – shift that pile of books and take a seat. Don't mind the light, my boy – Mrs Coulter has _decreed_ that the curtains should be given a wash in time for Christmas, so our Betty came grumbling in this morning and made off with them."

Surveying the grave young man before him, Mr Coulter cleared his throat, "Well, Thornton, you know that we shut tomorrow for Christmas, and Mrs Coulter and I - we won't be seeing you till the new year." Mr Coulter rose from his chair and began pacing round his battered desk, saw Thornton turn his dark head in puzzlement.

He stopped, holding out a worn leather purse. "This is for you," he said gruffly, "Here, take it. It'll bring you some Christmas cheer."

There was a small silence as Thornton opened the purse like a man in a dream. "Mr Coulter, there are twenty shillings here." There was a suffusion of colour in the boy's pale cheeks. "I can't possibly – "

"So there are, and yes you can," and then, Mr Coulter paused, appalled at the sudden brightness in Thornton's eyes. Sometimes, it was difficult to believe that Thornton was only nineteen, for none of the older lads carried themselves with such confidence, none displayed the sober politeness that Thornton had even with the most difficult customers. He was popular, for the men liked his brisk frankness, and the women loved his graceful hands and fine eyes. Yet, one always had the sense that behind his reserve was a lingering grief that would always remain unspoken.

He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and gripped it. "Thornton, go home. There's nothing more to be done today. You might want to nip over to the lace-maker's before they close and get your mother a new collar. I know you've been eyeing one."

"I don't know how to thank you, Mr Coulter."

"You just have."

Then, they shook hands, and Thornton smiled, a rare smile that touched his eyes. "Merry Christmas to you, Mr Coulter." The door closed behind him, and Mr Coulter, listening to the boy's light, quick footsteps padding eagerly down the stairs, rubbed his hands with a childlike glee.

It was the best twenty shillings he had ever parted with.


	2. A Snowy Morning

**Chapter 2: A Snowy Morning**

"_She never called her son by any name but John; 'love,' and 'dear,' and such like terms, were reserved for Fanny. But her heart gave thanks for him day and night; and she walked proudly among women for his sake."_

_- North & South- _

_Elizabeth Gaskell_

It snowed early on Christmas day, throughout the solemn service at the small whitewashed Unitarian Church at the edge of Milton and snow was eddying softly still when the Thorntons emerged with the congregation into the crisp morning air.

They walked a little apart from the rest; a handsome woman in unadorned black, the tall young man beside her, and the girl – the only fair one in a dark family - skipping merrily ahead.

"Fanny dear, you'll tire yourself. Come here and hold my hand."

Swinging her bonnet, Fanny cried, "Oh but Mama, I love the snow! I could dance in it all day!" And as she went twirling away down the snowy hill, her golden curls shone in the sun, a pretty, doll-like figure in a pink silk dress her mother had skillfully cut down from her own. It was Fanny's Sunday best, and one of the few luxuries the family still owned, for their home, furniture, jewelry and the fine gowns that had been the envy of Milton had all been sold to pay the creditors.

"Fanny – " Hannah began, and was about to start after her when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Mother, let her be. I haven't seen Fanny so animated in a long while." To her surprise, he was laughing, his face transfigured from its usual soberness. For five years, there had been little enough joy in the family, and she had watched, with the loving anxiousness of a mother, as her son took on without complaint the responsibilities that were so suddenly thrust upon him. _Five years._ John had been fourteen when the world as they knew it changed so irrevocably with George's death. Then, he had been a clever, hardworking boy and the top scholar in Classics for his year; even now, she felt with some anger, that he should have gone up to Oxford, or to one of the Inns of Court in London to train as a barrister. How easy it was to dash another's future with an instant of wild speculation; how bitter it was that that future should be John's. She would have done anything in her power to prevent it.

"Well, I suppose a little fun will do her no harm," she replied, taking his arm with a smile. They were alone now, for in her enthusiasm, Fanny had left them far behind. For all their poverty, they were an admirable pair: a woman still young enough to be austerely beautiful in her widow's black gown and outmoded bonnet; her son who wore with a defiant elegance, his shiny cuffs and jacket whose hems had been let out till they could be let no more.

They walked for a while in companionable silence, down the path that led to Salford where they had passed the five years since the sale of the Thornton family home in Milton. The milky morning light gave way to a crystalline brightness, and beneath a dome of blue sky lay the undulating moorlands, transformed to fields of sparkling white. It was a perfect Christmas day.

She was still deep in thought when the mischief in her son's voice roused her. "Mother, didn't you hear a word I said?"

Guiltily, she shook her head, "You'll have to tell me again, John."

With mock exasperation, he sighed and said, "I have a gift for you. And for Fanny."

"I hope you haven't been starving yourself for this, John," she said, alarmed. "You're quite thin enough as it is."

"No, of course not, mother." Smiling, he looked away and did not tell her of the meals missed and the long, cold days he had gone hungry to save more than the three shillings he put by each week.

She took his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, John. As it happens, I have something for you too."

"Oh, what is it?" He could not restrain his curiosity.

"You'll see. It's a surprise."

He was about to say more when they heard Fanny's voice piping up as she came pelting towards them, and it was all he could do to remain on his feet as she flung herself into his arms. "John, I want you to carry me home."

He groaned, "Fanny, aren't you too old for this?"

"But I'm tired!" Fanny cried plaintively, "And my boots are soaked – look!" And he saw that the worn brown leather was sodden, a patch of melting snow perching precariously on the knotted laces of the boot she held out for his inspection.

"Oh very well, you naughty girl, up with you then," he said, sweeping her up as she gave a small shriek of delight. "God, Fanny you're heavy. Did you have a cow for breakfast? I shall have to drop you in a minute."

"No, no, John! Don't let me down!" Fanny squealed as she clung to his neck and buried her face in the rough wool of his coat.

"Fanny my love, don't be such a dreadful goose," said Hannah severely. Mother and son exchanged a stern glance, each striving for solemnity; but her lips quivered first, and even as John himself began to succumb, she dissolved into laughter. And when she recovered at last, she clapped her hands, "Come along, children, let's hurry, or you'll be having a late Christmas dinner."


	3. The Joy of Giving

**Chapter 3: The Joy of Giving**

"_He knew what that little speech meant. But he had steeled himself. He longed to reply with a jest; the bitterness of his heart could have uttered one, but his mother deserved better of him. He came round behind her, so that she could not see his looks, and, bending back her gray, stony face, he kissed it, murmuring:_

_'No one loves me,—no one cares for me, but you, mother.'"_

_-North & South - _

_Elizabeth Gaskell_

Home was a cramped old house in a humble part of town, opening onto a cobbled courtyard shared with two other working families. In five years, the Thorntons had accustomed themselves to the noise, the damp and the draught along the floor when winter came, but it was the gloom that Hannah found hardest to bear, the faint light stealing through grey glass that no amount of scrubbing could ever brighten.

Though she had had thrust all memories of their former home in Milton from her mind, she could not help but look with anguish upon the threadbare carpet in the parlour, the plain furniture that John had to mend far too often, and the dreary windowless room where he tumbled shivering into bed, when they had no money for coal.

Today, however, a fire was burning merrily in the grate and Hannah had allowed the family the extravagance of three beeswax candles and a bowl of crocuses at the dining table. A small pudding bursting with plums, a few thin slices of ham and yesterday's coarse bread served for their Christmas feast; it was the crowning glory of three months' careful economizing, and she had her reward when Fanny slid into her chair, round-eyed with joy, and John stood, for once, quite speechless with disbelief.

And when the meal was over, chairs were pulled to the fireplace and the presents, hitherto concealed in devious places, were produced. Two brown parcels tumbled unceremoniously into John's lap.

"Go on, open them, John," Fanny said, hugging herself, "The bigger one's mine. Mother made me undo them a hundred times, and I spent absolutely _ages_ on them!"

Ceremoniously, he undid the string and uncovered a pair of grey woolen gloves clumsily knit, grinned and kissed her brow. "Thank you, Fanny. They're the finest gloves on earth." Turning back the wrapper on the remaining gift, he found a set of monogrammed handkerchiefs bearing his initials embroidered in royal blue. He looked up, "Mother, I'd recognize your work anywhere. I'll carry them with me wherever I go, for they will always remind me of you."

She inclined her head, and only said huskily, "You'd better give Fanny her present."

The "_Tales of the Alhambra_" was swiftly unveiled and as Fanny settled herself closer to the fire and began turning the first of its thick, creamy pages, John turned to his mother and held out a narrow, flat box fastened with a green satin ribbon.

Hannah untied it with some trepidation, and as the lid came away, her hand flew at once to her lips. It was a collar of white lace, intricately worked in a butterfly motif, and she knew at once, with a pang in her heart the sacrifices he must have made for her sake. "Do you like it?" he asked shyly.

"John, I've never seen anything more exquisite, but you really shouldn't have - "

"I wanted to," he insisted. "And here is more good news mother, look at what Mr Coulter has given us," and he pressed into her hand the purse containing the twenty shillings he had received.

Hannah was very still, staring hard at the twenty silver coins gleaming in firelight. "I thank God for you John. Each day, I thank Him for not leaving me alone with Fanny." Reaching out, she touched his cheek with greatest tenderness. "You are my courage, John. Promise me that you'll never leave me. Promise me that you'll always be mine."

She saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes before he folded her into his arms.

"I promise, mother. Always."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

Season's Greetings and thanks to all who followed my last N&S story. John's life during the difficult years after his father's death has always been of interest to me, and given the time of year, I decided to take a look at one particular Christmas five years after George Thornton's suicide. Some quick comments on the story:

-Mr Coulter and his draper's shop is a complete figment of my imagination.

-John gets what is known today as a "bonus" of 20 shillings for Christmas. In N&S, he earned 15 shillings a week working in a draper's shop. 20 shillings seemed to me a reasonable amount for a Christmas bonus.

-The Thorntons attend a Unitarian church: This was inspired by Mrs Gaskell's being a wife and daughter of Unitarian ministers, and some quick research showing that Unitarianism developed in large industrial cities in the Midlands and the North of England. There is also a conversation between John and Margaret in the novel implying that he held to a different religious tradition from her own traditional Anglicanism, and it didn't seem unreasonable to me that the Thorntons would be Nonconformists - which may have increased Margaret's disapproval of the family. If anyone has comments on this, I'd welcome them.

-Mrs Thornton's lace collar: Inspired by the one admired by Mrs Hale in the novel and mini-series.

Hope everyone enjoys the story!


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